


In A Place Called Nowhere, I Find You At Last

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Multi, Steve is devastated, Superhusbands, Tony is a clever bastard, cyborg, heavy grieving, technology makes everything easier and worse at the same time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just gone, just like that, proof that Tony Stark had a heart that was able to stop beating. Proof that not even Tony Stark with all his charm and his fierce will to survive and his genius could best death.<br/>But of course he did, the bastard. In his own way.//// A supershusbands fic in which Tony shows his brillance even after death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tony to my Steve. Not sure where this will end, but I liked the idea too much to just let it pass.  
> Enjoy!

After the funeral, he opens the door to an empty house and feels like breaking down and crying like a baby and never standing up again.  
Instead, he sits down on the sofa that does and doesn’t belong to him and stares out of the window, far, far into the distance, just to drone out the silence. 

He waits for someone to come home, but it never happens. Dead silence is everywhere.

He doesn’t enter the house again for a very long time.

++

Time floats by. Minutes tick away, change into hours, trickle into days, become weeks. He can’t remember how to draw anymore; the one time he tries it ends up a disaster. He doesn’t try again after that, instead gets used to stare at white, blank pages with blind eyes. 

It shouldn’t be that hard, he thinks. Everybody else seems to do fine, even though they miss Tony as well. It’s just him who’s unable to move on even a little, just as always. Maybe he only needs to get used to the thought that Tony Stark, this clever, loyal, wickedly handsome devil vibrating with life and strength is no more, that he is gone. Just gone, as if he stepped out of the house one day, bid them all good-bye with that familiar glint of mischief in his dark, dark eyes and took his leave to an unknown destiny. Just gone, just like that, proof that Tony Stark had a heart that was able to stop beating. Proof that not even Tony Stark with all his charm and his fierce will to survive and his genius could best death. 

But of course he did, the bastard. In his own way.

++

When Clint tells him what they have found out, what Tony has done, he does absolutely nothing for a long time. 

(What they don’t know, can’t know, is this:  
He doesn’t dare sleeping much these days because his dreams are far too sweet, full of all the possibilities, all the kisses and looks and soft smiles he will never get back again. He doesn’t dare sleeping because he doesn’t know whether he would want to wake up again if he did.)

When he does something, it doesn’t seem very spectacular and yet—and yet he is driven by such a force, such a need, that he doesn’t know what to do except giving in to it while fully knowing that it could cause him to get insane.

He does it nevertheless because Tony made him a gift by doing what he did and he’d be damned not to accept it. 

So it really isn’t spectacular when he enters a house that’s like the abandoned shell of a dead tortoise. It really isn’t spectacular when he moves through dust and sunlight, climbing the stairs with footsteps as heavy as his heart. It really isn’t spectacular when he opens a door made of wood that was closed for too long and gives in with a slight, high noise of sadness.

What’s spectacular waits when he sits down in front of the computer and boots it up. What’s spectacular awakens the moment he logs in on the chat Tony created long, long ago because he deemed Skype and everything else not worthy (of course he did, of course, and of course he was right, and how he misses him, how he misses the sun and the dust on his face when he---). 

What’s spectacular is that when he types in _Tony_ while feeling a little stupid, there is an answer and it’s the answer he’s hoped for (even though he didn’t know until this very moment).

**Took you long enough** , the flickering, black letters on the screen spell out and Steve stares at them, breathes in deeply and touches them with trembling fingers.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely attention! Just for better understanding: The dialogues are chat entries between Steve and "Tony". "Tony" is bold, Steve is italic.  
> Enjoy!

_Hey._

**Hi! Where have you been? I was worried!**

_There was a fight on Times Square._

**Was it aliens? I hate that aliens shit.**

_No, it was a boy, actually, not older than twenty, if you ask me. He had a personal vendetta against superheroes, but he wasn’t very smart. However, we were covered in blue slime at the end. It was a little nasty, but nothing too bad._

**I wish I could have been there with you guys.**

_Yeah. Me too._

///////

“I worry about you, Steve,” Natasha says softly. She looks a little pale these days, almost fragile in her black turtleneck sweater. It’s a week before Christmas. Tony has been gone for almost five months now. “You spend too much time in Tony’s house, talking to that program he made.”

“It’s my house now and I can spend as much time in there as I want,” Steve says very calmly and looks into his mug. There are patterns and designs in the milk foam on top of the coffee and he looks up to the barista behind the counter who smiles shyly at him. Natasha follows his gaze and tucks a stray, red curl behind her ear. He does not question why she knows what he is doing in the house that belongs to him now. It does not matter anyways. 

“Maybe you should find someone,” She says quietly. “Go out a little, have some fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

If it was anyone else, Steve would have answered something very hurtful and cruel because how dare they, but this is Natasha, the woman he loves like his sister, the woman that gives Bucky the strength he needs and probably knows a little what it’s like to think you have lost the love of your life forever. 

“Yeah, probably,” He says and decides to go home.

////////

_Honey, I’m home._

**My God, Steve, was that a spark of humor right there? I don’t know if I should be shocked or not! I always knew that deep down you’re a brilliant fire of gags.**

_You’re always so nice to me, why do I even bother talking to you?_

**Because you love me, honey, that’s why. And because I’m hot, no sense in denying that.**  
\---  
Steve? Are you alright? 

_I don’t know. I don’t think so._

**What’s wrong, then?**

_Nothing. Everything. I don’t know._

**You don’t know a lot these days, do you?**

_No, I probably don’t._

**You should sleep a little. I’ll be there when you wake up. I’ll always be there, I won’t leave you again. I promise.**  
\---  
Steve? I promise. 


	3. Chapter 2

_You know what I miss most?_

**I never knew what’s really going on in your head, Cap. Tell me.**

_Holding your hand. I miss holding your hand. You have the prettiest hands I have ever seen._

**They are not exactly pretty, Steve. I chew on my nails and I work a lot.**

_But that’s exactly what I like about your hands. That I can see what you did with them, all the things you have built. I liked their shape and burns and callouses and scratches. I even liked your nails. I liked the feeling of holding your hand, just… holding it and feeling as if I had the future in my palm. Because I had. I had the future in my palm when I held your hand and I liked it._

_Like it. I still like it._

**Steve?**

_Yeah?_

**Please don’t cry. Just. Please.**  
\----  
Please. 

////////////

“I know someone,” Bucky says over a cup of coffee. There is a wrinkle in his cheek and his hair is mussed. He looks like he has just fallen out of bed and yet Steve knows he has not slept for at least two days, having returned from a mission just two hours ago. 

“That’s good, you should always know people in case you need their help or feel a little lonely,” Steve replies with a friendly smile because he feels a little like playing dumb. Unfortunately, there is nobody in this entire world that knows him better than Bucky and so he only gets an annoyed glance from a very tired man. 

“She is nice,” Bucky says a little louder than necessary, as if trying to stop Steve playing dumb by doing so. Knowing him, that is probably the case. “Military, blonde, bluish eyes,…”

“No,” Steve says a little sharper than necessary and pours himself another cup of coffee. He looks out of the window and sees New York stretched out in front of him. It is still his home, the city he loves, but there is something missing, a heartbeat going through every street and house and person and tree. New York cannot make him happy anymore. New York cannot console him anymore. 

“Steve,” Bucky says softly and he has not heard that kind of tone since they were boys and everything was a little harder and a little easier at the same time. “You need to- I don’t know, man. I barely see you anymore. Nat and me, we worry about you.”

The cup in Steve’s hand cracks before shattering into pieces. Bucky swears and leaps up to fetch a towel and wipe the mess of coffee on the floor away, picking up the pieces of porcelain before carefully opening Steve’s bleeding hand. 

“It can’t go on like this,” He says and carefully picks out the tiny splints in the gashes that split the skin of Steve’s hands. “Can’t you see that?”

Steve bites his lips until they bleed and says nothing.

//////////

_I had a really, really shitty day._

**Come sit down and tell me about it, honey. I have a surprise for you afterwards. I think it’s time.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably take a little longer. Thank you for all your interest and support of the story so far!


	4. Chapter 3

Steve’s world keeps spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t know how to hold on to prevent himself from falling. He is slipping and tripping; he can feel it, but there is nothing he can do about it. 

He has followed Tony’s careful instructions, went out of the room, padded along the floor until he reached the cellar door. Opened it. Went inside. Flicked on the light. Went down the stairs until he couldn’t go any farther. Found another door. Opened it. Flicked on the light. Doubled over and fell to the floor. 

He can hear his breath because everything else is deadly quiet. He can’t look up.

If he looked up, there might be the chance that he was wrong. There might be the chance that he was wrong and there is not Tony lying on a couch, eyes closed, hands folded over his chest as if to mockingly imitate the way he laid in his coffin. Lies in his coffin. There might be the chance that there is no couch at all, or a couch bare of this body of a young man who looks like he is sleeping, eyelashes fanned over his cheeks and completely still. There might be the chance that he is right and this is real, that somebody is mocking him, mocking his loss, because Tony is dead, Tony is gone, he saw him in that coffin, kissed pale, bloodless lips and carried this coffin to the cemetery with his own bare hands. 

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up. 

/////

“Steve? It’s me, James. If you hear this, call me back, will ya? Haven’t heard from you in a while and I just… Old habits die hard, I guess, still looking out for you, punk. Anyways. Let me hear from you, alright?”

/////

In the days before his death, Tony was pale, yellowed skin covering a body that lacked strength and muscles. His eyes lay deep in their sockets, feverish with the glint of a dying man who was determined to fight his fate until his very last breath. His hair was grey, only strands of black in them, and strawy. He was hideous and he called himself hideous too, belting it out with a choking laughter and avoiding every mirror in the house. Still, Steve loved him. Still, Steve thought he was the most beautiful, most astonishing man he had ever seen and he loved him, loved him with a fierceness that edged on insanity. 

The day before he died, when he was already so weak he couldn’t leave bed anymore and the people who had come to see him one last time and subtly say goodbye had left the house, Tony lay so quiet in his bed that for a moment, Steve thought he had died on him. He remembers clutching Tony’s frail, once so strong hand and crying without shame, crying like a newborn seeking his mother because he wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready for a life without Tony. Then Tony opened his eyes, lifted his hand and carefully carded his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“So beautiful,” He told him and smiled a little. “You will always be beautiful. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, nothing I wouldn’t try to be with you until you, too, get silver strands in your hair. Bet it would look good on you, you stupidly handsome man.”

Steve can’t remember his answer, but he can remember the crook in Tony’s smile and the glint in his eyes when he said, “Don’t you worry, Steve. There is no way death can really best me.”

/////

The Tony on the couch is different. He appears younger than Steve has Tony ever seen, with thick, black strands of hair and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in a purple suit Steve remembers all too well. His hands are strong and tanned, just like the rest of him. He looks healthy. He looks as if he is only asleep.

Steve is afraid to touch him. 

“Sir,” JARVIS says quietly and Steve is too tired, too burnt-out to really react to the sudden addressing. “Mr. Stark instructed me to show you a video recording if you ever entered this particular room. Would you like me to play it now?”

Steve doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods, eyes never leaving the figure on the couch. There is a screen right next to the couch. It flickers alive and Steve forces himself to look at it.

It’s as if he was hit with an iron fist right in the solar plexus.

There is Tony on the screen, the way he was weeks before he died, when they still thought they had months to come, months to be together. He looks tired and haggard, but he smiles with a softness Steve believes not many people have seen from him. It makes him swallow and gag and choke out a laugh while his eyes get blurry because he misses him so much. So much.

“I miss you,” He whispers and doesn’t know what to do. Luckily, Tony helps. Tony always helps, always. That’s just what he does, fixing things, and Steve needs fixing, now more than ever.

“Hey, love,” Tony- Tony, who was dying and yet took all the time he had left to do this, whatever it is- says softly and Steve closes his eyes and smiles through tears.


End file.
